Happy Hour

If this tenet isn't in the Runner's Rule Book it should be: the times when you least feel like going on the run are the times when you most need to get yourself out the door and go for one.

Due to a variety of scheduling gaffes I was only able to run one of the six miles I planned this morning. The day ended up involving a proliferation of irritating logistical calamities, and by late afternoon I was an utter mess of a mind and a body. My 60-minute commute stretched in to 90 minutes both ways, and my quads were tight and heavy; my head was a tornado of worries and not-done to-do's, and a full 12 hours after the fact, I was still feeling itches of guilt from the five miles I missed this morning.

Now when it comes to afternoon runs I should tell you that I have a terrible track record of DNS's (as in "Did Not Start"). I have been such an early bird for so long, that it is way easier for me to get out the door at 4 a.m. to run 20 miles than it is to get out at 4 p.m. to run 2 miles. I'm just wired that way. I don't even want to count how many vows, dates, and promises for afternoon runs that I've broken to myself, how many times I've scheduled it as a formal meeting on my Outlook calendar and then "dismissed" it, or how many times I carried my gym bag out to my car unopened. I have definitely skipped more p.m. runs than I've completed.

By the time I pulled into the driveway this evening, the odds of a run were not looking too good. I was to-the-bone tired, and more inclined to grab a beer, a piece of chocolate, or a People magazine, than a run.

It was a sheer act of faith and my 10-minute mantra ("just run for 10 minutes") that got me on the road. The first steps felt so slow, tight, and sluggish; I couldn't imagine that I'd ever feel any better. Like today, or ever. But I forced myself to keep going; I figured that as long as I was outside and moving - even just for 10 minutes - the chances were good that at least I wouldn't feel worse.

And then, somewhere between minutes one and 10, something shifted, just like it always does. Maybe it was the breeze; the first dose of fresh air I'd had all day. Maybe it was the crinkly sound of the rain, or the blast of oxygen to the brain, or the fact that I could feel my heart beating for the first time all day. I could practically hear my blood pressure falling. It really doesn't even matter why, really. The only thing that really matters is that thirty minutes later, I returned home feeling like I had a personality transplant, and like I could have kept going for another three, five, or even more miles. I felt refreshed, lighter, creative, and exhilarated, and ready to seize the day all over again. I sat down for dinner with my husband and kids all energized and smiley inside - the absolute opposite of the way I'd felt an hour earlier. I was so grateful for my run, and so amazed that just a few faithful simple steps had so profoundly transformed me into the much better version of myself for the people that mattered the most.

Maybe a beer, a piece of chocolate, or dose of celebrity gossip news would have had a similar effect; but honestly I don't think so.

This is not the first time this has happened - it always goes down this way. I don't know why it always feels like a big surprise. No matter. It will always be thrilling!

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